


In the Name of Love

by NoOneCanBeJustLikeMeAnyway



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek Hale, Angst, BAMF Derek Hale, Derek Feels, Derek Gets Therapy, Derek Hale & Stiles Stilinski Friendship, Derek With Cats, Derek is a Softie, Derek's Eyebrows, Eventual Happy Ending, Fluff, Healing, Healing Derek Hale, Hurt/Comfort, I'm Bad At Tagging, Idiots in Love, Isolation, Lydia Martin & Stiles Stilinski Friendship, Lydia is a Good Friend, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Minor Original Character(s), Oblivious Scott, Possessive Derek, Post-Nogitsune Stiles Stilinski, Protective Derek, Scars, Self-Discovery, Stiles Feels, Stiles Leaves the Pack, Stiles Stilinski Has Scars, Stiles Stilinski Is Bad at Feelings, Supportive Derek, Touch-Starved, because he deserves it, derek has a kitten
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-30
Updated: 2018-02-09
Packaged: 2018-09-20 23:54:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 18,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9521639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NoOneCanBeJustLikeMeAnyway/pseuds/NoOneCanBeJustLikeMeAnyway
Summary: Stiles isolated himself in the aftermath of the Nogitsune. His friends didn't want to push him so they gave him his space after they fought one to many times in an attempt to pressure Stiles to go out and be 'normal' again. Stiles doesn't agree. In fact, he likes being an introvert. Aside from the guilt trips, of course.Cue: Derek Hale.





	1. When there's madness

**Author's Note:**

> I'm horrible at summaries and this is my first attempt at a Sterek fanfiction so please be gentle and also keep in mind that English isn't my first language! :) I appreciate feed back so please comment what you think! If you find any glaring mistakes please point them out to me so I can fix them. :) If this fic turns out to be interesting for some of you I'll add new chapters every monday.
> 
> I do not own any of the characters mentioned, all copyrights belong to the producers of Teen Wolf and MTV.  
> The title is from Bebe Rexha's Song 'In the Name of love', all rights belong to the producers of the song. 
> 
> Please don't post this work on goodreads or any other simmilar website. Thank you.

It wasn't always like this. Not even that long ago Stiles enjoyed going out with his friends, getting a surprise visit by Scott or hosting a movie night in his way to small living room with the pack in a puppy pile that he was involved in more often than he can count.

It's not even that he didn't enjoy these events, but more that he can no longer physically bear them. Stiles knows that he's hurting his friends and family but he learned that sometimes he has to put himself before other people, a realization that took him twenty one years to come to, and now he can't seem to find a healthy middle. He pushed his own father so far away that he won't call in fear of getting hung up on or simply just hearing his son's voice mail because Stiles hates phone calls. The pack doesn't dare show up unannounced at his apartment’s door because they don't want Stiles to feel obligated to let them in and have forced small talk which is really fucking nice considering the only human member of the pack also won't show up at any other occasion unless it's life threatening. They let him have his peaceful and quiet life outside the supernatural shit-show that is life as 'Little Red Riding Hood' (Erica's words, not his), although Stiles sometimes can't help but feel incredibly lonely and isolated.

Scott and Lydia were the first to notice the change in Stiles' behavior. A little over a year ago, when Stiles still lived in his childhood house, he sat in his room at his desk, applying for jobs in the near area. After the disaster with the Nogitsune Stiles knew he wouldn't graduate with the nearly perfect GPA he so badly wanted and needed to get into a University of his choice without having to pay an insane amount of money neither he or his dad had, even though the Sheriff insisted, on more than one occasion, that he'd take the double shift every day for the rest of his career (Yeah, sure, let's see how long until you fall asleep during a hostage situation) to be able to come up for his son's education. Logically they both know that that was never an option.

So there he sat, clad in pajama bottoms, a lose Captain America Tee and pink bunny slippers with big bunny ears on them (Thanks, Lyds). The loud knock on his window startled him and the boy almost went down in a mess of flailing limbs and paperwork he got spread out on his desk that went flying when he did. Luckily, he could catch himself on the desk and turned just in time to see Scott crawl through his window in... In dark, tight jeans and an equally dark and tight button down. Huh. Those were his 'I-need-to-impress-your-mom' clothes ...or his 'I'm-going-to-be-hit-on-tonight-and-I-know-that-you-know-I-know-but-please-don't-say-anything-I'm-an-innocent-puppy' clothes. Depending on the Event.

  
Right now,though, right now he looks really angry. Scott is rarely ever angry. Sometimes he's 'disappointed' (Ok, _mom_ ) but not angry. He had something in his hand... The same hand that sported some really impressive claws holy shit what- ''What the hell happened? Who died? Oh my god I can't even take one fucking second for myself and somebody has to-'' “I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU FORGOT!” Scott's voice bellowed through his tiny room and out of the window where you could still hear a faint echo in the woods. Stiles stands stock still as if to not move would somehow make Scott forget he was there. Red eyes stared at him and Stiles had to think really fast. Forgot....Forgot... What did he forget? What's the date? Ah, September 25th, right. Someones birthday? No... OH. Oh no please god don't let this be happening...

  
“Oh my god, Scott I'm honestly so fucking sorry you don't even-” Scott's shaking hand that held the keys to his apartment between his index finger and his thumb under Stiles nose made him shut his mouth and tentatively cup his hands together to let Scott drop them there. He did just that and promptly took a couple steps back to bring a little distance between them. Stiles felt as if he got struck by lighting. His eyes stung with unshed tears and his mouth was dry as well as his throat. He tried to swallow but couldn't and just ended up coughing his lungs out as it felt. Suddenly, he couldn't breathe. He fell from his already bowed over position to his knees and put his legs under him and his forehead on the ground. He could hear distant voices but they sounded tiny and far away through the sound of rushing blood in his ears.

  
Stiles feels horrible.. Devastated. He let his best friend down. He let Scott down. Scott! _THE_ Scott. The one who punched the kid that made fun of Stiles on their first day at school. The one that puppy-eyed him out of so much trouble he stopped counting. The Scott that held him through the endless nights after his mother died and never missed an opportunity to sleep over or come to his house even if it was in the middle of the night and Mrs. McCall already slept. He used to wake her up and after a while she wasn't even mad any more, she just got up and asked Stiles if John should come get Scott or if she should bring him over in case the Sheriff was already asleep. He was his brother.. And Stiles let him down. Again.


	2. When there's poison in your head

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second chapter! Up in time (for me at least idk in what time Zone you are ). I'm gonna post every monday and add tags and characters in the order of their appearence. Hope you enjoy this :) Not beta'd

Nothing could have prepared Stiles for the amount of hate he felt towards himself. After that especially horrible evening, Lydia was the next to corner him and demand an explanation as to why he was avoiding the pack like they had the pest. But of course in a more Lydia way. The clicking of her heels on the school hallway was the only warning he got, but it was too late. Stiles was at his locker, his arms full of books and he felt like a mouse in a trap.

“Care to tell me why you're being a bigger douche than Jackson was when he found out that Kira could bench-press more than him?” Aaahhhh yes that was one of the best days in Stiles life. Definitely in the top 5. “What do you mean?” he asked, feigning innocence. He knew exactly what she meant. He didn't attend the last 3 or so pack meetings and answered none of her text messages or calls. “I mean you are awfully quiet and defensive and talk to nobody. You always talk! That's your thing!” she answered, a tense and desperate edge to her voice as she stepped closer and trapped Stiles against his locker. In his attempt to bring a little distance between himself and the banshee he leaned back, halfway into his locker and held onto his books for dear life as a makeshift shield against the invasion of his privacy. “What's it with you lately? Do you ever think about what you're doing to the pack? You're smart and you know it so I can't imagine that you suddenly 'forgot' what an emissary is supposed to do,am I right?” Her eyebrows reached a judgmental level that would conquer Derek on his best days. Lydia edged closer to Stiles and she must see real panic in his eyes at the aspect of being this near so somebody... And then it dawned her. “This is about what happened, right? What this thing did? Are you purposefully isolating yourself from the pack?” “I- ahm -” Stiles didn't even see the redhead move but suddenly he was enveloped in a hug. A really awkward hug, because he didn't reciprocate it. He let her hold him for a few seconds but he couldn't handle it any longer than that. Stiles carefully pried her small arms from around his shoulders and tried to put them back at her sides put she put up a fight. She seemed to think that physical contact is what would be the best solution. It really,really isn't. The only solution it brought was to Stiles inner debate of 'Should I panic? Run away? Lash out?' Apparently, all three.

“Stop it Lydia!!” His way too loud voice in her ears made her flinch and back up enough for Stiles to flee to the side and out of her range. He let go of the books in the process but at the moment he honestly couldn't care less. He was furious, trying to control his breathing. Why couldn't they just let him have his space? He didn't even do anything bad, nobody died because of his lack of appearance and nobody got hurt. All he did was keep to himself more than usual and yeah, Lydia was right when she said he avoided the pack. He still didn't get why nobody ever thought about why. They all jumped at the chance to … Stiles didn't even know what they really did. They all had different ways of dealing with Stiles-withdrawal. Erica was pissed and bumped into him whenever she could. Boyd didn't even look at him. Isaac was more hurt than mad and gave Stiles his best (or worst, depending how you see it) puppy eyes from the back of the class. Scott wasn't talking to him, which made it hell sitting next to him in class. Lydia was apparently keen to 'fix' Stiles or get him to talk about what was bothering him. But honestly? The only thing he's bothered with is his lack of privacy. He gets it, ok? Being part of a pack of werewolves didn't really insure any kind of privacy whatsoever, what with the heightened senses and need for cuddles ('It's called pack bonding, Stiles. And you know it'). Maybe he should just give it all up. Not the pack, of course, but his position as Hale Pack Emissary...

“I quit.” Whoa, ok so his mouth made the decision for him. What's new. “...What?” Lydia's voice sounded hollow but her face went through a whole palette of emotions, anger, sadness, disbelief, before it settled and was in tune with her voice. Void (ha) of emotion. “I said- I said I quit.” He felt like the weight of the world was lifted of his shoulders. He began laughing. It sounded hysterical, even to his own ears. According to the taste of salt in Stiles mouth he cried as well. Paying no attention to Lydia or his books still lying on the floor, he turned and ran.


	3. When the sadness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! I honestly had no Inspiration until today so here ya go :)

And here Stiles is, alone in his apartment a little out of Beacon Hills. It's just a thirty minute drive to his fathers house but he needed to get out of that town with all those awful, blood soaked memories. After he 'quit' his position as Hale Pack Emissary he also gave away his rights as Derek's second in command. No more 'What do you think about this?' were thrown in his direction and for the most part it was fine. He finished high school but, just as he thought, he didn't get the GPA he wanted. So he goes around working jobs as a barrista or bartender here and there, his father sends him money and that's also fine for the most part.

 

He'd never thought he would come to love the solitude but he truly does. He's still on relatively good terms with the pack, meaning they check in on Stiles occasionally and drown him in food and other valuable stuff (Money, supplies for his kitchen) because they're worried and think he's gonna become a prostitute if they don't bother him often enough. It obviously doesn't matter to Scott or Lydia ( or Derek, who comes by now and then ) that Stiles lives the life he wants to live, to an extend. Even if he tells them exactly that, at every chance he gets.  Not going to college was, in retrospect, one of the best decisions that Stiles ever made ( Ok he didn't really make the choice as much as it was taken from him but, whatever. Semantics.) The pressure would've probably caused Stiles to have a breakdown before the first day even began ( not to mention the student loans ) So he dodged a bullet there.

 

Now, though, there's an elephant in the room whenever someone comes over, and even when it's just Stiles. The big question. 'What are you going to do with the rest of your life?' It's an issue. Because as much as Stiles would love to answer that question to his friends and family ( and the occasional asshole at the coffee shop he's working at who seems to think that a barrista does basically nothing all day (despite the fact that he's literally just handed his money over for an overpriced pumpkin-latte-frapucino-whatever ) ) he honestly can't even answer it to himself. Stiles guesses he'll just have to live until he finds his 'calling' or at least something he doesn't hate with everything he is.

 

Making his way from the couch he was sitting on to the kitchen he pushes all the thoughts of his past and his future to the back of his mind and thinks about the present. The present in which Stiles is hungry. Like,starving. Because it's 6 pm and he just came home half an hour ago and was to tired to make something right away, his legs stiff and aching from standing all day. As he pads his way to the kitchen on bare feet, only wearing plaid pajama bottoms he found behind one of the couch cushions, he bypasses the front door and hears the tell tale creaking of elevator doors. ( To be honest, whoever takes a look at that dinosaur and doesn't think 'yep, I'm gonna take the stairs' has a serious death wish) He turns and wonders who it could be that visits him at this time in the middle of the week. Basically everyone left Beacon Hills after their graduation to go and do their on thing in different parts of the state. The boy runs a hand through his hair and goes over to where he can look through the spyhole only to squeak and practically stumbe over his own feet when he's greeted with two big, green eyes which are looking at him like they see him trough the door.


	4. Leaves you broken in your bed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I decided to add another chapter because I felt like it  
> Maybe I'll post another one tomorrow but definitely on monday :)  
> I hope you enjoy!

“I can hear you, you know.” The smug little smile was evident in Derek's slightly muffled voice. Normally Stiles would be amused by Derek's amusement because he learnt that Derek's happiness was rare and beautiful, just like the man himself. He cherished the memories of Derek's full belly laugh like gold. But as much as he'd like to see his face, and he really wanted to, he was way too tired to uphold the facade of a normal human being. He's tired and hungry and exhausted.

 

“I'm not in the mood.” Stiles knows it's rude because Derek drove all the way up to him but honestly, he should know that unannounced visits are Stiles' worst nightmare (aside from being eaten by a giant gummy bear. Yeah, thanks Scott, drinking 17 Sodas and eating our body weight in sweets was a GREAT idea.) because he told him many times before.

 

The other side of the door was silent and for a second Stiles thought Derek gave up, but then he spoke again. “I know you don't like surprise visits but I brought food. I thought we could watch a movie, not talk and eat. I know that's your favorite thing to do.” He sounded almost shy at the end there. Derek Hale. Shy. In what kind of parallel universe was he?

 

When he opened the door (because what kind of person would deny food. Or Derek) the older man stood there with a bag of take-out he held out like a peace offering and looked at Stiles with concern. He must look as bad as he felt because Derek's next words were “Or we could rain check, you look horrible.” His eyebrows drawn together he let his held out arm fall to his side again.

 

Stiles leaned against the door and made a face.

“Gee, thanks dude. Glad to know you never change.”

“You know what I mean. Are you taking care of yourself? Enough food, sleep and exercise?” Derek asked while he took a hesitant step forward as if he wanted to approach a wounded animal. That kind of behavior wasn't really reassuring and a lot irritating so naturally, Stiles got pissed. (It's a defense mechanism at this point.)

 

“You're not my dad, alright? Stop acting like you care so much for me when you obviously just want to either have control over me or need me for some kind of research for some supernatural shit that you can't figure out your damn self’s. I've had enough of that, as you can see, or why do you think I moved out of Beacon Hills? I'm done with the whole freak show.” At the words 'freak show' Derek visibly flinched and instantly, Stiles wanted to duct tape his mouth shut. Preferably forever.

 

“Look, I'm sorry, ok? It's just... It was a long day and you know how I get when someone just shows up.” Stiles hopes his face shows how sorry he is because he knows Derek already got enough shit thrown at him about him being a werewolf.

 

Derek's gaze slowly lifts from inspecting his shoes and he hesitantly looks at Stiles. “I know, it messes up your routine and you think you have to uphold some kind of standard for whoever you spend time with. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. I should've at least called.”

 

“Or texted.”

 

“Or texted.” Derek repeated with a hesitant smile. That bastard knows him too well.

 

Stiles considers him for a moment and decides that it could be worse. It could've been Lydia showing up at his door, and she wouldn't even care for what Stiles would say and that, more than anything, was a red flag for him. He hated it when someone assumed that he's just stubborn and enough prodding would make Stiles give in. Quite the opposite, actually. The more someone pressured him, the more he shuts them out.

 

“The food'll get cold, come on in.” With his words Stiles opens the door wide enough for Derek to step in and walk to the kitchen. Once there, he takes out the containers with the food and puts it into two bowls. Then he looks around, and after a moment Stiles realizes he's looking for the cutlery, so he points at the first drawer in the cabinet next to the refrigerator. Derek takes out two forks and puts them in the bowls, which he then carries to the little coffee table in front of the couch. He takes off his leather jacket, lays it over the back of the couch and sits down, leaving more than half of the couch for Stiles.

 

All the while Stiles just stands there and watches the whole procedure with a kind of fond amusement only reserved for Derek Hale. He briefly wonders if anyone in the pack ever see Derek like this, so thoughtful and caring. Maybe they do, but never realize what Derek really does and how he cares for each one of their specific needs. Like how Isaac needs a lot of reassurance and Erica needs to be put in her place once in a while so she doesn't lash out, how Scott needs responsibility handed to him in order to become a better Alpha, and Boyd has to have someone to talk to if Erica's not available. How Lydia is very wary and uncomfortable around Peter but needs information she can only get from his books, so Derek makes sure he is never around when the Banshee makes an appearance at his loft. How he always leaves enough room for Stiles so he doesn't feel constricted.

 

Derek takes care of everyone, and Stiles really hopes the pack notices.


	5. I will hold you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yesterday was my 20th birthday and it was one of my worst but it's all ok now.  
> I hope you enjoy this :)

“What movie do you want to watch?” Stiles asked, crouching in front of his DVD shelf. 

“Your pick.” Derek answered, sinking into the couch.

“Alright.” 

He put Riddick in the player.

Stiles sat down on the couch with enough space between Derek and him to move freely without touching. He took the bowl in front of him and said “Thank you” looking at Derek with a grateful smile. 

“You're welcome” he replied with a smile. 

The menu lit up and Stiles pressed play. They started eating in companionable silence. 

After about thirty minutes Stiles started to shiver and went to his bedroom to get his blanket, threw it over his shoulders like a cape and strolled back to the couch, where he laid out on his side, angling his legs so they wouldn't touch Derek's. 

In his nest the younger man started to drowse in and out of consciousness, startling awake every time his head lolled to the side. He felt sleepy and content, his belly full of good food and his aching muscles finally relaxing. 

Without thinking Stiles stretched his legs out to get a full body stretch and his feet touched something solid.

Derek's thigh. 

Derek's here. 

Fuck. 

The alpha was so quite that Stiles forgot he was even there. No one moved for a few seconds, and then a hand snaked under the blanket and took a hold of Stiles foot. 

Derek's hand. 

On Stiles foot. 

Stiles thinks he might die from this little touch alone. 

The older mans hand was big and warm and a little calloused, his thumb rubbing little circles right above his ankle. 

It was soothing, in a way that nothing else has been in a long time. 

No bubble bath or hot shower could get his entire being to relax like Derek's thumb moving in circles on his skin, and wasn't that just weird? Usually Stiles was all about personal space and not being touched by someone, no matter who, without warning or asking first. 

But Derek's grip wasn't strong by any means, it was feather light as if he knows and wants Stiles  
to know that he can take his leg away anytime he wants and that alone makes it that he doesn't. 

Noticing that he is still kind of tense from the surprise Stiles relaxes forcefully and buries himself in his blanket again, pulling it up to his chin. 

Sleep comes slowly but surely but getting up suddenly seems like the worst idea in the history of ideas so the soothing circles on his ankle become Stiles lullaby for tonight and he lets his eyes fall closed. 

When he opens his eyes next he's in his bed. Disoriented, Stiles sits up and looks at the clock. 

Almost 3 am. Great.

See, Stiles is one of those people who, once they wake up, can't go to sleep again. 

Facing the prospect of yet another to short night he pads out of his bedroom to the bathroom, splashing water in his face. Having made such a huge habit of avoiding the mirror he doesn't even think about taking a peak at his own reflection. 

He already knows what's gonna greet him. Dark shadows under dull eyes, too long, tangled hair and gaunt cheeks, skin long due for some sunlight and maybe a good laugh or two. 

While walking to the kitchen Stiles thinks about yesterday's evening. Derek's presence seemed to fill his whole apartment, not in the way that made Stiles feel overwhelmed or choked, more like a warm, fluffy carpet that doesn't stop Stiles from doing anything but makes itself known with a good feeling in every step anyway. 

That probably doesn't make any sense, but it's 3 am, cut Stiles some slack.

First, coffee. Maybe then Stiles'll feel more like a human. 

He fills water in the tank and puts a new filter with new coffee ground in the machine, presses the button and sets on finding a god damn mug that hasn't been used at least three times already. 

With little success Stiles gives up and takes his favorite mug (It has a Batman symbol on it) to the sink to rinse it. 

As sleep deprived as he is he just yanks at the water tap and the stream hits the mug and sprays directly into his face and on his shirt. 

“Jesus!” he yells and flails around a bit before thinking about closing the tap. 

Yep, definitely awake now. 

Thanks, Stiles. 

He puts the mug down and takes a dishtowel to dry his face. Looking down on himself he sees that not only his shirt but his pants too have been drenched in water. 

Wait a second. 

His shirt? 

When Derek came over he didn't even wear a shirt. 

Which means Derek must have put it on him when he put him to bed..

Oh God, Derek put him to bed. 

And put a shirt on him. 

A warm feeling erupted from his chest and flows through his whole body, setting his cheeks on flame at the idea of how he brought him to bed. He must've carried him. Well, that shouldn't have been a problem, have you seen those muscles? 

Especially after he became an Alpha.

But aside from that, the gesture is so sweet and intimate that it makes goosebumps rise on Stiles arms. 

Ok, ok Stiles is getting a little side tracked here. (But who could blame him? Seriously.)

Why didn't Derek wake him up? Stiles is gonna ask him the next time they... What? What did they even do? Just hanging out ? Because as far as Stiles' concerned, hanging out usually involves a lot more talking and a lot less sleeping. 

But he won't be asking Derek what they were doing. It was probably a 'wolf thing anyway, checking on pack mates to make sure they're alright. 's what he does to everyone in the pack.

Stiles is sure of that.


	6. In the depths of your despair

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovelys! Here's a new chapter for you and I hope you don't hate me too much :)  
> Thank you all so much for your unbelievably sweet feedback! Your comments and kudos and hits really make my life a little better <3  
> I hope you enjoy reading xo

The next day at work isn't much better than the last. After Stiles woke up at 3 am he stayed up, he had to go to the coffee shop at 5 anyway so what's the extra hour he could've had good for anyway.

Luckily, it was only a 15 minute walk from his apartment to the shop. Roscoe was broken and he didn't have the money for the repair, and this was one of those incidents in which duct tape wouldn't cut it. 

Of course, the second he set a foot outside his apartment building, it started to rain. No, it wasn't just raining, it was pouring. He ran up again, snatched the umbrella from his wardrobe and walked back down. 

He showed up at 4:57 and went in the back to put on his apron, then set on to bake some of the pastries they had up front. At 5:30 one of his coworkers, Steven, a tall boy with messy blonde hair, came in with a “Hi Stiles!” that was way too cheery for anyone that was human at that kind of time. 

“Hey Steven. Eh, could you maybe put these in the display case? I have to finish the croissants.” Stiles held the plate with freshly baked cupcakes out for Steve to take. 

“Sure thing.” He took the plate slowly, purposefully brushing their hands together, winked and went off. 

This was nothing new. Steven hit on Stiles on every chance that he could get. Stiles usually didn't mind it that much, but it was getting a bit out of hand, what with Steven staying long after his shift had ended or coming in way earlier than his shift started just to spend time with him. That, in itself, would be flattering under different circumstances, but it already went on for 2 weeks and slowly Stiles started to feel claustrophobic in his presence and actually a little harassed too. 

He didn't want to talk about it to anyone, because really, it didn't sound like a big deal every time he said it out loud. It just sounded like that kid (and he really was a kid, he was only 17 years old) had a crush on him, nothing to unusual, considering the brown haired boy had grown into a man, tall, with broad shoulders, sharp,bright facial features and a very (very) specific charm that some people actually found endearing. 

But today, it took a turn for the worse, just like Stiles had feared. 

After a long day of serving ungrateful and rude customers, Stiles was 100% done. A girl emptied her mocha latte over his shirt because 'this isn't soy milk, make me another one!' , an older, oily looking, half bold guy pinched his ass while he turned around from delivering his tea to his table and it looked like his phone was broken (thanks to the soy milk girl). 

So of course, the universe had to sprinkle a little Steven on the top to make it a perfect day in the no good, very bad life of Stiles Stilinski. 

“Steven, could you do me a favor?” 

“Anything for you, my love.” was the response. Steven's tone of voice was goosebump inducing, felt poisoning. 

They were the only ones left in the little shop, the customers long gone and their boss didn't even show up today, god knows why. He was alone with Steven in the morning, too, but somehow the darkness at 6 pm was a lot more threatening than the one at 6 am. 

“Uh, could you maybe cover the rest of my shift today? I'm not feeling to well and I think I need to go home and lay down for a while.” Stiles shifted nervously under Stevens piercing gaze, his dark brown eyes crinkling at the corners at the opportunity that Stiles could somehow owe him something in return. 

Asking Steven for a favor wasn't on Stiles To-Do list for today, or, you know, ever but he really felt awful. He wasn't hungry in the morning and usually when that happens he tends not to eat for the whole day ( He just forgets,ok? ) except for when he comes home and his body shuts down and he realizes that he's starving. He feels lightheaded and is probably swaying on his feet a little and he should really go home. 

“Well, what would I get out of this deal?” Steven smirked and made his way around the counter he was just leaning on to stand in front of Stiles, head cocked to the side and looking down at him from about three inches above ( This kid really was tall, he's probably the star basketball player at his school). 

“It wouldn't be a favor if I'd owe you something in return. You'd have to do it out of the good of your heart” Stiles replied,batting his eyelashes and schooling his expression into mock innocence, folding his hands over his heart. He was so sick of this obnoxious kid always making innuendos and trying to worm his way in Stiles life when he shot him down, very obviously, more than once.

Steven's expression faltered for a second and Stiles eyes went wide, heart rate kicking up the moment he saw the pure rage and determination behind his 'friendly' facade. Steven took a step closer to Stiles, practically boxing him in with his wide frame, and Stiles had no choice but to step back and let it happen. This guy is a lot more packed than he is and Stiles doesn't know what he's capable of, what he planned on doing. So he steps back and realizes with horror that his back just connected with the wall on the left side of the door. 

A peek to the door confirmed what Stiles already knew, which is that the door handle is on the right side of the door, far out of his reach. 

Steven saw his peek at the door and grinned as soon as Stiles eyes looked back at him. 

“I repeat myself very reluctantly, but for you I'll make an exception. What do I get?” When he spoke his breath ghosted over Stiles face, that's how close he was, and the hair at the back of his neck stood up. 

Even though Stiles was scared shitless because he was alone, god damnit, nobody will come and help him and he knows he's not strong enough to take Steven he refuses to back down, so he speaks up, despite the quake in his voice.  
“I-I don't know what you want from me, S-Steven, but I think I made it c-clear that I'm not interested, so if you l-let me go now I'll keep my mouth shut.” He imitated locking his mouth and throwing away the key. ( Why? He's panicking,ok?! Get it together, Stiles this is serious!) 

Just as Steven lifted his arm with the intent of clamping it over Stiles mouth, the door opened. 

Stiles could cry from the pure feeling of relief. Closing his eyes he let his head fall to the wall with a 'thud' and pushed out a breath he didn't know he held. 

There was a strange gust of wind quickly followed by a loud crash and he opened his eyes to see Derek, of all people, pining Steven down by his throat on the remains of what once was a little wood table. He had his fangs bared directly into Steven's face and flashed his crimson eyes, reflected in the blond boy's wide, fearful ones. 

Stiles blinked. Blinked again. 

Nope, not a hallucination.


	7. And it's all in the Name of Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had inspiration and didn't want to wait so here! *throws chapter at you* Have another one!  
> Enjoy xo

Frozen in disbelief, Stiles could do nothing but stare at the picture before him. Derek had his right hand tight around Steven's throat, a little too tight, apparently, if Steven scrambling at Derek's hand and his red face was anything to go by. But maybe it was not Derek's hand at his throat but his knee planted firmly on his chest to keep him down that made it hard for Steven to breathe. The man's left hand was held out at his side, claws out, ready to strike.

 

Stiles felt cold all over, shivering he put his arms around himself in a desperate attempt to cover himself and get a sense of security back after being assaulted. He tried to speak, say something,anything to Derek so he'd let go of Steven, but he couldn't think, couldn't even breathe properly,and all that came out was a horrible sob slash wheeze that took him, and Derek too, by surprise.

 

The Alpha's head lifted with a sharp motion, glowing red eyes locked on him and for just a second, there was no recognition in his gaze. He just stared at the younger man as if he was threat, or prey, ready to pounce at a seconds notice. But then, slowly, as the red bled out of his eyes they filled with humanity again as well as worry, cheaply disguised as anger.

 

Stiles first, and in retrospect, stupid thought was that Derek was angry at _him_. But then determination set over the werewolves face, brows drawn together in concentration while he turned to face Steven, this time with more control over his wolf.

 

He removed his knee from Steven's chest, planted his foot on the other side of his waist while hoisting the boy under him up by his neck.

 

Steven seemingly didn't appreciate all the manhandling, kicking wildly from where his feet barely touched the ground and clawing at every part of Derek he could reach, while the latter held him an arms length away to spare his face the molestation.

 

Fed up with all the fussing and struggling, Derek's hand squeezed Steven's throat just enough for the blond to go still and wide eyed, panic written all over him, as well as submission. Steven knew he didn't stand a chance and stopped struggling in order to stand on his toes to breath as much as he could through his constricted windpipe.

 

Derek yanked him close to his face and growled “Listen to me, you piece of shit. If I ever see, hear or smell something of you in Stiles proximity I'll rip your fucking throat out.” He lets his face shift, eyes glowing red again and teeth lengthening to sharp fangs. “With my teeth.” With that, he throws Steven into the opposite wall and wipes invisible dust off of his shoulders. His T-Shirt is a little rumpled but otherwise he looks incredibly calm for someone who just threw someone into a freaking wall.

 

Oh my God, Derek just threw his coworker into a _wall_! At their _work place_!

 

Stiles is _so_ fired.

 

“Come on.” Derek nudged him to the door, startling Stiles out of his thoughts and startling him just in general because what the-

 

“What have you done?! Are you _crazy_?? Do you have any idea what you just did?” If anyone asked, Stiles did not sound like a little girl. He was shrieking, but it was manly shrieking,ok? Ok.

 

“I just missed the opportunity to kick him in the balls.”

Wow, way to go.

 

“That's not what I meant! You shifted, you complete moron! We may not be in Beacon Hills but that doesn't mean that there are no hunters here and you know that I know that you know that. So why?” He looked at Derek's profile from where they were walking beside each other on the sidewalk just outside the coffee shop towards the Camaro, waiting for an answer.

 

“He wanted to- He was going to-” He cut off, physically shaking himself out of whatever train of thought he had and stopped his stride to turn and look at Stiles. “He was going to hurt you and I couldn't let that happen. I lost control a little, and I know it was stupid but there's nothing we can do about that now except hope that nobody will listen to a – a what? 16 year old High school kid?” Derek started walking again while Stiles stood there, bewildered and flailing a little because what? Is Derek serious? There are literally Hunters in almost every little town, most of them crazy enough to listen to _everything_ , doesn't matter who they get it from, that could potentially lead them to a werwolf.

 

Especially an Alpha.

And especially Derek Hale.

 

Calming his breathing and willing himself not to hit Derek over the head with something, preferably the bestiary because _irony_ , was always a special talent of Stiles so it only takes him about 3 seconds before he scrambles after Derek and walks to the passenger side of the beautiful black car. Sliding in the Camaro has always been kind of like a circus act for Stiles, his gangly legs really weren't meant for such a low set car, that he was shivering really didn't help things along.

 

He loses his grip on the roof of the car 3 times, thanks to his clammy hands, before Derek walks over to him from where he was standing at the drivers side watching him, first with fond amusement but then ever increasing concern.

 

“Calm down, big guy I just need a good gri-IIIP!!” Even if it happens unhurriedly he's still taken by surprise at the sudden body contact.

 

Derek lifts him in his arms,carefully and slowly,giving him every opportunity to back out, edging towards him as if asking for permission and after no sign of discomfort at being so close to another person from Stiles lightly circling his waist with one arm and the other under his legs, as if he weighs absolutely nothing, and pushes the door open with his hip as wide as it'll get to set Stiles down gently in the seat, being mindful of his head and uncoordinated limbs. Having apparently decided that Stiles couldn't be trusted with anything more today, Derek fastens his seat belt too, the click of it way to loud in their silence but nothing compared to the rushing of blood in Stiles ears.

 

He's blushing and he knows it and this might be one of his worst ( best?) days in a while. Derek either doesn't mind, doesn't care or isn't paying any attention to Stiles state of mind, doesn't give any recognition to their weird moment (did they have a moment? Stiles thinks they had a moment), instead just shutting the door as softly as he can as if he's afraid that Stiles would start crying the moment he hears something loud, and walks back to the drivers side.

 

Derek gets in the car with a grace that Stiles could only dream of, sliding in smoothly with a practiced motion behind the wheel. The rumbling of the engine coming to life has a funny effect on him, it's so familiar, so normal and safe that Stiles abruptly does feel like crying, which he then proceeds to do.

 

Loudly.

 

He sinks back in his seat, covers his face with his hands and bawls his eyes out.


	8. If I told you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovelys, as always a huge THANK YOU to everyone who's still reading this garbage even when it seems like it's not going anywhere, I think I have a rough plot for this story now and I hope you stick around to see the end <3   
> I'm not feeling to well so I hope my depression-fogged brain didn't trick me into thinking this is better than it actually is.
> 
> Feedback would be highly appreciated xo 
> 
> Enjoy!

Warmth slowly seeps through his red hoodie into his bones, the gentle blow of pleasant air from the heater system driving the cold away and leaving Stiles more jittery than before. His muscles slowly relax, eyes burning and head throbbing from the intense crying and in that moment Stiles _really_ realizes how _tired_ he is. It's not that kind of tired that can be cured with a good nights sleep, it's the kind of tired that has settled into Stiles bones and makes every little thing he does feel like an Hercules Labour. Stiles lets his head fall against the window, staring at the houses and woods they pass, but not really taking anything in.

 

Thinking about his own misery only makes him more miserable but sometimes he can't help it, sometimes he's already to deep in this particular head space to do anything but fall and let the overwhelming agony win. He can't always fight it, and that's ok, he tells himself. There's this hole in his mind, a hole that has been there since the dark spirit possessed his body all those years ago and that, he feared, would never go away, always in the back of his mind, accompanying his every step. He thinks about what the Nogitsune would've done if he would still be in control of Stiles body, how he would've fought Steven, probably killing him too, to feed his never ending hunger of pain. Shockingly, Stiles realizes, that he misses the power the Nogitsune gave him, in some weird,twisted way. He feels strange now, thinking about the body he has being capable of throwing Derek into a wall, while right now he can't even do two push-ups. Stiles still feels him, like an echo ringing through his body, aftershocks of the helpless feeling, the feeling of losing control, being paralyzed while watching his friends and family get hurt and not being able to do anything about it even though they were _his_ hands that caused all the pain.

 

Being shoved into the corner of his own mind was one of the worst things he ever had to experience, he was there,always there, hearing, seeing and feeling everything the Nogitsune did. When the dark spirit left and the connection to Stiles snapped it felt like it tried to claw onto every part of Stiles it could get, and, forcefully ripped out, it took a lot of parts of Stiles with him. He never told anyone about it, about the emptiness he's experiencing, how it feels like he's missing something because it sounds _wrong_ , like he's missing this _thing_ which is true to a point but not really – he just wants a sense of control and power back, something he's been missing and now associating with the Nogitsune because it was so incredibly overwhelming with him and has set a cruel scale for everything that's to come.

 

In times like this Stiles often thinks back to when Dr. Deaten told him about the 'Spark' that he had to have to handle supernatural accessories like mountain ash. He regrets not going back to ask him for more information and maybe a book or two on the topic, thinks maybe, maybe he can still do it, still go back and do something meaningful with his life. _A purpose_ , Stiles thinks, _that's what I really need_. And he won't find this here, he knows it. Because there's nothing in this little shithole of town, nothing for him.

 

 Deciding quick before his anxiety ridden brain can convince him (with blindingly stupid arguments) that this won't work, he jolts uprights and half yells “Drive to Beacon Hills.” at Derek, who looks shell shocked for a second before he drives slower to take a full look at Stiles face.

 

He's looking Derek straight in the eye, no hesitation evident on his face and hands clenched to fists in his lap as if he would be ready to fight Derek _physically_ if he would refuse. His big, honey colored eyes reflect the light of the passing street lamps but that's not the only light he sees. Derek sees life in Stiles eyes, for the first time in years, and it's breathtakingly beautiful to see a glimpse of the young, energetic man that he would be now if it hadn't been for the Nogitsune.

 

So he takes a look in the rear view mirror and turns around right there when he sees that the next car is too far behind them to be a problem. He takes the curve a little harder than intended and he worries for a moment before he hears a sound he thought he'd never hear again. Looking over at him he sees that Stiles is laughing. He Looks _delighted_ and a little stunned by his own laughter and the sudden U-Turn, clinging to the handle above the door to avoid banging against the door.

 

Derek decides that he likes that sound and promptly lets the windows down and picks up the speed, just to see how Stiles'll react to that. It's more than he could ask for. Stiles shoots him a bewildered look that instantly resolves to glee, throwing his head back and laughing freely and there's just one word to describe the sight before Derek's eyes: Wild. Stiles looks just how he should,young and full of joy, free to do whatever he wants to without any expectation clinging to him, dragging him down and hindering him from reaching his own potential.

 

Derek returns Stiles smile and even laughs a little, at which Stiles turns his head from where it's laying on the head rest to look at Derek's profile while he's driving, still laughing and now crying a little bit too. Stiles knows that Derek can smell the salt and can pick up the chemo signals that tell him no, those aren't tears of sadness, those are tears of joy and relief and a little bit of grief. Grief for himself, for the person he was before all of this. Grief for all the years he wasted. Grief for all the friendships he's lost.

 

But above all, Stiles tears are tears of someone who lets go of something big and painful, something that has been a part of them for so long they're not sure if they can live without it.

 

But they're trying anyway.


	9. This was only gonna hurt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovelys! How are ya'll doing? I, unfortunately, am sick but it's just a cold. A very nasty one, but oh well, what can you do?  
> Every week I'm sitting at my desk, thinking 'Yes, that is how the story is going to continue' but then, 5 minutes into writing, the story says 'Nah.' and there it goes, living his own life. I am so sorry if you can't follow my train of thought in this story, and if there are any suggestions as to how it should continue, please, feel free to leave a comment and I'll see what I can do! (Of course you can also comment if you see any mistakes or to tell me how you like this fanfiction, I love reading comments!) 
> 
> I hope you enjoy it! xo

The way to Beacon Hills was spent in silence. Whether Derek nor Stiles had the urge to fill it. Once they crossed the border Stiles grew stiff as if he just now realized that they were actually here. Derek slowed the car to basically walking speed to give Stiles time to process that he's back in the town where he had lived the worst time of his life. Stiles turned the volume of the radio up and 'All We Know' blasted through the speakers, the soft voice of Phoebe Ryan filling the car and the bass perceptible through the leather seats. It seemed to be the perfect song to calm Stiles down, who began tapping his fingers on his thigh to the rhythm and giving his mind a little break.

 

The song ended and Derek saw Stiles moving in his peripheral vision, he turned the volume down again,then twisted in his seat to look at Derek thoughtfully.

 

“Derek?” Stiles voice broke a little at the end and Derek immediately looked over to see what's wrong. He was greeted with a soft smile, whiskey eyes warm and a little shiny. Stiles had his sleeves pulled up, hands clasped tight in his lap, shoulders slumped as if he was trying to make himself as small as possible. His posture was nervous and tense but his eyes – God, his _beautiful_ eyes, they were full of fondness and gratitude. Derek could do nothing but stare. Did Stiles say something? Why was Derek even looking his way?

 

Shit, he was staring.

 

Derek whipped his head around to look at the street again, clearing his throat. He felt his face grow hot. ( _Smooth, Hale_.)

 

“Hm.” Derek said. He hoped whatever Stiles said wasn't a question, and if so that it could be answered with 'Hm'.

 

As it turned out it was his lucky day.

 

“Thank you.” Stiles voice was heavy with emotion. Sadness, relief, grief, gratefulness, fear. He sounded like he was at the verge of tears again. Even if Derek never had to see Stiles cry in his life again it would be to soon. But he wasn't about to try to tell Stiles to 'lighten up' or some similar bullshit. No, he knew very well that emotions were meant to be felt, that they have a purpose. His therapist was very persistent when it came to showing feelings and coping mechanisms. And if crying is what Stiles needs right now then he wouldn't stop him.

 

Derek wasn't sure how to answer Stiles, though. What was he thanking him for? Giving him a ride? Punching that douchebag in the coffee shop?

 

“For what?”

 

“For everything. For being you. I don't think anyone else has the ability to encourage me to do something with silence rather than words. You probably don't even know what you did, but that doesn't matter anyway.” Stiles answered while he leaned out of the window. He closed his eyes and let the cold night air blow his hair back, caress his scalp and neck and waft under his hoodie and shirt, causing him to shiver. Stiles loved car rides, especially in the Camaro. It made him feel free and weightless. He trusted Derek with his life and he never worried about accidents, partially due to Werewolf reflexes and partially because even if Derek was reckless with his own life ,sometimes, he would never risk that of someone else. Not being worried about something was a rare state for Stiles, what with his hyperactive mind and bad experiences in the past so he savored those moments as best as he could.

 

Derek was silent for a few minutes as he guided the Camaro through Beacon Hills, seemingly at random. It looked like he was trying to stretch their moment for as long as possible, just like Stiles. After all, nobody even knew they were there so nobody was waiting for them to show up anywhere, and the only other wolf in town that could've caught their scent was Peter, who often minded his own business nowadays.

 

At the next red light Derek leaned back, leaving one hand on the wheel while he petted his beard (Stiles calls it stubble but what does he know?) absently with his left hand. Thinking about dropping Stiles off at his old house while the Sheriff was, doubtlessly, working the night shift again (even though Derek told him to take it slow and maybe leave some cases to him) made Derek feel uneasy. He couldn't quite place the feeling, something along the lines of protectiveness of a hurt packmate maybe, but then again not really. Irritated, Derek looked at Stiles who was in the process of inspecting his nails, flexing his long fingers on his leg and picking at little pieces of skin, a nervous habit. His eyes raked over Stiles disheveled hair, the sweep of his nose, the moles scattered across his cheek, down his long neck, and back up to his eyes, as if if Derek would look hard and long enough he'd find an answer for his confusing feelings on Stiles soft, pale skin, tattooed somewhere.

 

Stiles notices Derek's starring and looks at him. This time, the Alpha won't be the first to look away it seems. He has his eyebrows set in a frown and looks like he's solving some really hard mathematical problem in his head and Stiles just happens to be in the way of his gaze. He cocks his head in a silent question and blinks at Derek, who then asks “Wanna go for another ride?” Stiles grins mischievously at him and that's all the answer the older man needed. He smirks and puts the car into drive, tightening his grip on the wheel and steps on the gas pedal the second the light turns green, hard enough to make the tires screech. Stiles holds onto the handle above the door (his new best friend, apparently), closes his eyes and just breathes. He can't help the maniac laugh that escapes him, the rush and adrenaline making him lightheaded and happy. Derek drives with such confidence you might think he was born driving this car. His eyes are sharp and seemingly everywhere, calculating every distance, every turn, every parked car, sidewalk or stop light.

 

Derek has a destination in mind. There is a little district without any real traffic, close to the town border, just a few warehouses, no one lives there. More than enough space to have a little fun. Of course he doesn't want to impress Stiles or anything similarly childish ( _of course not_ ), he just wants to make use of his car, which he didn't have much time for lately. Two birds one stone and all that. He can make Stiles and himself happy. His instincts tell him that Stiles happiness has a higher priority than his own, however, he acknowledges that but simply files it away as his need to make his pack happy, as their Alpha.

 

Oh, how wrong you are, Derek Hale.

 

 

 

“That was _awesome_!!!” Stiles exclaimed loudly, his hands waving in the air wildly, as if he couldn't contain his excitement and had to physically let it out somehow or he's gonna explode.

“I mean, _how_?? How did you do that? That thing where you did a 360 and didn't swerve once? Not even a little, tiny bit? I can't even stay in my own lane when I'm driving 30 km/h!” he laughs.

 

Derek and Stiles stayed a good 45 minutes in that district, spent with Derek pulling every ace he has up his sleeve to make Stiles happy and see his face light up. It was closing in to midnight when they decided to call it a night, Stiles yawning more than laughing, the adrenaline wearing off and making him feel tired and worn out. Even while he was talking he looked like he could fall asleep right that second, so Derek mustered up the courage to ask “Do you wanna sleep at my place tonight?” which made Stiles all but jump out of his own skin, eyes snapping open, posture tensing so suddenly it looked painful.

 

“Hey, hey calm down. I know you, ok? I know your routine. We won't sleep in the same bed, I know you're sweating in your sleep and you think it's disgusting even when it's not your fault and it's mainly due to your nightmares, and you need a lot of space for yourself. You talk in your sleep and it embarrasses you, although I don't mind. You don't like any kind of interaction in the morning, and talking to you before you finished your coffee is basically suicide. You'll have your space, I'll make sure of it. Trust me. I know it's not easy, but you know me as good as I know you.” He takes a deep breath. “ I won't pressure you, I promise. I just thought you might wanted to not be alone on your first night back here, your dad is probably working the night shift again.” Stiles frowned and opened his mouth but Derek cut him off with a head shake “Do not look at me like that, I tried. But he won't listen and I'm not about to 'Alpha' him, as you so eloquently put it, he could be _my_ dad, that's frowned upon.”

 

Stiles couldn't help but chuckle a little at the image of Derek and his dad having a silent stare-off with just their eyebrows.

 

“So, besides that I had the idea that we could start your first day back together. We can talk it all through and I'll support you as best as I can. But like I said, I would accept a no for an answer.” Derek already had him at his little speech of all the things he recalled from some of their more intimate conversations in the past, but it was funny and interesting to see him struggle and talk so much as well. Plus, Derek didn't give him a chance to talk,so.

 

“I'd like to try it.” Stiles said, nodding.

 

“Great.” Derek smiled. “On a side note, don't hold things back from me. If you want to go home in the middle of the night, just wake me. And tell me if something's making you uncomfortable, doesn't matter what or why, I'm not gonna ask and you don't have to explain it. I won't be mad or disappointed. It was my idea and I have to handle the consequences if it doesn't work.” He stated firmly.

 

“Wow, this whole therapy deal is really doing it for you,huh?” Stiles was endlessly happy for the Alpha. On some days he couldn't even see the slightest hint of the old Derek in this one and it does really funny things to his stomach when he sees the Alpha interact with his betas, joking with them and taking care of them and he gets the sudden urge to cuddle him. Huh. Strange.

 

Derek let out a startled laugh and said “Yeah, I guess so.”


	10. If I warned you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovelys, first of all,thank you all for sticking around and I really hope you are still enjoying this story. Secondly, I am really not feeling too well, real life really is a horrible spoilsport. But that's what fanfictions are for.  
> As always I wish you you a wonderful week, enjoy xo

It only took 5 more minutes to get to Derek's apartment ( yes, he had finally ditched the hellhole of a loft ) and once there, Stiles went eerily quiet. They had just bickered about the last Captain America movie ( Derek was Team Cap so A+ for that ) and the second Derek turned the ignition of the car off Stiles looked like a deer caught in the headlight. Derek knew better than to say anything, though, so he just unbuckled his seat belt and got out of the car. He walked straight to the front door of his apartment building, gripping the keys in the pocket of his jacket with a little more force than was probably needed, but he was _nervous_ , ok?

 

Did he go to far? Derek didn't want to pressure Stiles or make him feel like he had to do what Derek wanted in order for Derek to like him or spend time with him. What if Stiles was angry?

 

This careful arrangement of trust was equal parts for him and for Stiles. Derek tried not to be selfish, but he also couldn't be so foolishly self sacrificing anymore. His old behavior was more stupid than it was 'heroic' or even necessary. Because of the way Derek always got himself hurt to protect others he reduced the chances of them winning. One man less that could fight, and all because he thought his life wasn't worth much anyway, instead of really fighting for his own life in a battle that could've easily cost him said life.

 

To be fair, though, Derek was practically at his worst when all shit hit the fan with the Alpha Pack. If they ( they meaning Stiles ) wouldn't have figured out where Boyd and Erica were, they probably would've been dead. Scott and Derek bursted through the vault walls just as Kali was about to blow her finale strike on Erica's throat. Derek had jumped on her and pushed her out of the door as far as possible, and in the next second Stiles had laid a line of mountain ash at the threshold so that she had no chance of coming back in but the three of them could leave with Boyd and Erica through the hole in the wall that they entered through.

 

A fit of rage and need for revenge brought the Alpha Pack back to the Hale Pack, acting like a group of kindergarteners that didn't get the toy they wanted. Derek would be eternally grateful that Stiles and Cora arrived in time for Stiles to hit Ethan over the head with his tuned baseball bat made out of mountain ash wood, wrapped up in barbed wire which was laced with wolfsbane ( yeah, everyone was afraid of that thing and thus of Stiles who called it 'baby') and for Cora to swipe her claws at Kali's face so that she let go of Boyd before he could be impaled on Derek's claws. He did get scratched and it took 2 days to heal but it was better than the alternative.

 

The shutting of a car door pulled Derek out of his memories. Stiles stood next to the car, fidgeting and slightly shaking, looking from the ground to the car and finally, to Derek, who gave Stiles what he hoped to be an encouraging smile and waved his hand to indicate for him to come to the door. The inner fight was obvious on Stiles face but in the end he visibly steeled himself and, determined, strode towards Derek.

 

The Alpha felt a deep sense of pride at seeing his emiss- his friend, his pack mate face his fears so strongly, regardless the rooted anxiety he lived in. Derek turned around, unlocked the door and went in first, mostly by instinct to search the place for potential threats. When he couldn't smell, hear or see anything unusual he held the door open for Stiles and they walked up the stairs together in silence. Derek unlocked the three locks on his door and pushed it open, just to bend down and catch a little black flash that was about to bound for the stairs.

 

Stiles jumped and yelled “What the-” but when he looked at the thing Derek clutched in his hands he saw that it was a little kitten.

 

Derek freaking Hale.

 

Had a little baby cat.

 

And he was in the middle of cooing at it.

 

Stiles clutched at his chest and got a little dizzy at the sudden switch of feelings, from panic to adoration. Because this had to be just about the _cutest_ thing he had _ever_ seen. Not just Derek holding the kitten and murmuring things like 'Hey little girl' and 'Come here,puppy' but the kitten itself, too. It was probably still very young, but it looked even smaller in the older man's broad hands, and it seemed to be made entirely out of black fluffy fur, the only thing that could be seen were her green eyes sticking out and almost glowing.

 

Derek stopped his endearments and looked at Stiles from under his lashes from where he bent his head down to touch his nose to the kitten's. He jerks his head towards to door and Stiles stumbles a little in his haste to go inside and stop staring, _my god_ , Derek must think he hit his head or something.

 

The low chuckle he hears only confirms it.

 

“Take this.” Derek says and holds the little fluff ball out to Stiles as soon as he half turns in the hallway to take his shoes of and put them among Derek's.

 

“Uhm-” but his answer gets stuck at the first contact with soft pelt and the fragile, weightless body in his hands. Stiles looks down and is met with curious eyes, the kittens head tilting to the side as if she's asking _'And who are you_?'

A tiny little meow works it's way out of her mouth, breaking in the middle as if she's still finding her own voice and Stiles heart _literally_ melts at the sight of those miniature teeth, little white fangs, and Stiles can't resist to put his finger on them, testing how sharp they are, and he promptly gets bitten for his efforts. It doesn't hurt and he lets the cotton ball gnaw on his finger a little more before he takes his hand back and smooths her ruffled fur. Or try's to anyways because it seems that this is just what she looks like, like she'd been bathed and then dried with a hair dryer.

 

Derek's hand lays heavily on his shoulder but doesn’t startle, he heard him approach ( probably courtesy of Derek's mindfulness and not of Stiles' hearing ) and turns his head. “Your room is done, if you want to sleep now. Or I could make us something to eat first and you can take a shower.” He stirs Stiles into the living room and sits him on the couch.

 

“I- eh- I'd like to eat. If that's ok with you. It's late, don't you want to sleep?” Stiles asks and pets the cat in his lap idly.

 

Derek smiles down at the two of them and says ”No, I'm hungry ,too, don't worry. I'm making pasta casserole, that alright?” as he turns and walks into the open kitchen. “And you should go shower now before you get even more tired, you'll feel better afterward.”

 

Stiles puts the kitten on the couch, much to it's protest, say's “Fuck yes to both.” and makes a beeline for the bathroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are highly appreciated xx


	11. That the fire's gonna burn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Thursday, lovelys :) I just got myself a tablet and its perfect for writing so I went and wrote the next chapter a little early, I'm still gonna update on Monday though.   
> I wish all of you a happy weekend and I hope you enjoy this chapter xo

... Or where he thinks it’s supposed to be.

 

“You’re going the wrong way.”

 

Shit.

 

His face burning he walks back to Derek and asks “Well, where is it then? This place is fucking huge, why do you have such a big apartment? This is, what, a four bedroom?” He knows he’s deflecting and Derek knows it too but neither of them mention it.

 

“Yep. I thought it was perfect for when everybody is back from college, every room has a big enough bed to fit at least 2 people and a secluded bathroom. And yours is connected to your room, so you’d have to go there first.” Derek points out of the kitchen towards a corner “Around there, the second door on the left. Clothes are in your drawer.”

 

Stiles gaped at him, opened and closed his mouth a few times. He probably looked like a fish. “You have my clothes here?!” he asked.

 

“They’re yours, but I didn’t break into your old childhood room to steal them if that’s what you’re thinking. That would’ve been creepy, even for me. I bought them, Lydia and Erica helped me to pick out your size.” Derek took a careful look at Stiles face, saw how hollow his cheeks and eye sockets were and softly said “Although I think they could be a bit big for you, now.” While maintaining eye contact. Not out of disrespect but more out of desperation, he ignored Stiles weight loss and neglected self care for a while now because he had hoped Stiles would come to his senses on his own and didn’t want to hassle him. Nowadays Stiles was like a snail. If you so much as touched him he instantly drew into himself and stayed there.

 

Stiles blushed and tried not to look like a scolded child, keeping his hands from fiddling with the sleeves of his hoodie was a real effort but he managed it.

 

“Apropos creepy, what were you doing at the café anyway?” It was Stiles last resort to find a not too obvious way out of that particular conversation, even if he really, really, _really_ never wanted to talk about what happened there ever again.

 

Derek seemed to realize this, too. His expression changed from concerned to angry before he scolded his face back to ‘zen wolf', smoothing out the lines on his forehead and the crease between his eyebrows deliberately.

He took a deep breath and turned around to take a pot out of the cabinet besides the oven. “I wanted to pick you up from work. Thought I’d drive you home and we could watch another movie. Good thing, too.” The unspoken _Otherwise…_ could very well be written in the sky. Stiles stomach does a little flip and not the good kind.

 

“ I’ll just-“ He makes an aborted movement in the direction Derek pointed to.

 

The older man nods his head slightly and goes about cooking the noodles.

 

Stiles takes one last look at Derek’s tense back, turns around and begins his search for his room. He turns the corner and is greeted with a corridor which holds 2 doors on the lest side and one on the right. He walks past the first room and sees that the door is open.

 

Curious, he casts a look inside. Placed in the middle of the room is a king sized bed with black covers, a little white nightstand with a black lamp and a book on the right side and a larger black closet on the left. This must be Derek’s room, Stiles thinks. If the bare walls and spare furniture didn’t give it away, the assemble of cat toys on the ground as well as the bed would’ve sealed the deal for sure. A little smile plays at his lips as he retreated from the room and went to the second door, which was closed.

 

He turned the knob and as the door swung open he immediately grabbed at the wall inside and searched for a light switch. Darkness never sat right with Stiles, even before … even before. He found a little knob on the wall and fiddled with it and instantly got blinded.

 

The light ‘switch’ was less of a switch and more one of those little wheels which you could regulate the brightness with. Stiles shielded his eyes and fumbled a bit more on the wheel until the setting that was undoubtedly titled ‘Sun’ made place for a dim glow that left everything in the room looking soft.

 

His room’s furniture was arranged in the same setting as it was in Derek’s, but it was all made of dark wood. The carpet had a nice beige color, as did his bed covers. On the dark frame of the bed itself it looked beautiful. As he entered the room fully he saw another closet to his left, the upper half a TV stand and the bottom half a book shelf, already stocked.

The books were probably Derek’s.

 

Stiles opened to only other door in the room, from his point on the right side of the bed, and he was man enough to admit he felt like crying and maybe he did, just a little.

 

It was just – It all looked so soft and welcoming, as if the apartment itself wanted him there. OK, no that sounds like some weird magic shit and he didn’t want to get involved with that, at least not now. Where there even such things as living apartments? Or apartments with souls or something like that? He’d have to ask Deaton, but honestly? As long as one didn’t want to eat him or his friends he could live a happy life, completely oblivious to the existence of _living_ spaces. That was pretty much his motto regarding all things that go bump in the night. As long as it wasn’t an immediate problem Stiles was honestly more than OK with not knowing, seeing as how he’d spent most of his life knowing too much and how it ruined him.

 

For now the young man is content to just stand there and enjoy the warmth coming even from the _ground,_ of _course,_ Derek The King Of Comfort, would have a furnice in the bathroom floor. 

Stiles had all kind of feelings regarding Derek's new found peace and happiness. He was utterly baffled at how _different_  Derek is now. He smiles everyday, makes jokes and even cuddles with the pack. Things like 'puppy piles' are a thing now. OK, Derek calls it bonding but Stiles did his research and he's at least 98% sure it's called a puppy pile. 

 

Around the pack, Derek wears his heart on his sleeve. It's confusing because Stiles had this picture of the older man and now he has to rearrange his whole world view to fit 'Derek Hale Is Happy' in it. Don't get him wrong, the pack is way more functional now that they have a real Alpha to lead them but it's still irritating. He's still getting used to it. He just hopes that Derek's not getting hurt again, especially not now that he's finally happy with himself.

This wasn't a typical four bedroom apartment but Stiles guessed Derek would have enough money to design and build a completely new flat. Stepping in the bathroom Stiles only just closed the door before he was naked and in the shower, completely avoiding the mirror. It took him a few minutes to figure out how the shower works but the second the hot water touched his skin he slumped against the wall and closed his eyes, letting his mind work through everything that had happened today.   

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is appreciated, as always xx


	12. Would you walk in?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote another thing on here and I noticed that maybe I am better with one shots for now. I'll still update till this is finished but please don't expect too much of this story. I'll post more one shots, you can give those a read!   
> I still wish you as much fun as you can have with this inconsistent piece.

All of the conflicting feelings in Stiles head are driving him insane. His dad had mentioned a therapist on more than one occasion, but what was the point in that if he couldn't tell them everything that had happened? The therapist Derek consults is specialized on supernatural PTSD and also the only one of her likes around, but going to the same therapist as him makes the younger man uncomfortable, just the thought of a person knowing his deepest, darkest thoughts and emotions is enough to make him squirmy. He feels so god damn lost, misunderstood and trapped in his own mind. But Stiles isn't stupid. He knows what the symptoms of depression are. And he's already neck deep. Stiles becoming and introvert didn't help, either. He'd isolated himself from everyone, family and friends alike. He doesn't even like getting touched anymore. Sometimes he can bear or even enjoy it, but just in small doses. Personally, Stiles has no problem with that. He gets that no one around him gets it, he's not oblivious to the consequences of his actions. But he is also not oblivious to his own needs. It's nothing personal, it really isn't. It's not like he's thinking 'Oh, yeah, Scott can hug me, but Erica? Nah.'

If you are a human being then that's enough reason for Stiles to say 'Please, don't touch me or invade my personal space. I don't like it.' He's getting enough shit as it is. Luckily, most of his friends, through Scott, learned a lot about what Stiles feels. Scott, _bless him_ , went on a little journey to find more information about what Stiles experiences. He went to the library, googled his little puppy brain out and probably held power point presentations at pack meetings. Lydia joined in after Scott started his search. Of course, she already knew most of what Scott only just found out but she failed to recognize the signs when Stiles unusual behavior started and she went about it at a slightly off angle. Derek, of course, didn't have to do any research, having experienced Stiles set of mind first-hand.

 

Derek is probably the reason,too, for the single pack members (it was always just one at a time, mostly with 1 or 2 weeks between each visit) showing up at his door with food, staying for as long as they didn't notice that Stiles forced smiles or glanced at the clock more often. He hates that he is like this. He doesn't hate the solitude, he just hates that he's hurting his friends. Sometimes he doesn't even know why they haven't given up on him already, it's been 4 years since he moved away, but he can't despise them for apparently liking him enough to change their habits and learn to treat Stiles like he needs it. He's torn between insisting they should except him as he is and trying to jump back in time to maybe take another way of coping, instead of isolating he could've gotten excessively outgoing and extroverted. But that probably would've been just as bad, only in the other direction. People often think Stiles is either very shy or very selfish, either way, you can't seem to get it right. But Stiles gave up on trying to 'help' other people put a label on him. He doesn't care what anyone thinks of him anymore, it's more important what he thinks of himself. Ok, he doesn't think he's a good person either but it's, whatever. He had apologized thoroughly to all of his friends, but still made it clear that he is not going to be torturing himself with forcing conversations and enthusiasm. The werewolves (and very observant humans) could tell anyway and would just get irritated.

 

A loud knock on the door snaps Stiles from his thoughts and makes him almost brain himself on the shower head when he slips and tries to turn around at the same time. The shower has walls made of glass, but Stiles unconsciously tries to grab at nonexistent curtains to cover himself, before he remembers that Derek hears him taking a shower and wouldn't come barging in. “Are you alright? You've been in there for almost 30 minutes. The food is almost ready.” Derek's muffled voice reminds Stiles of where exactly he is and looking at his wrinkled fingers, he can indeed believe that it has been a little while since he got in the shower.

 

“Yeah, I'm fine. Just spaced out a bit. I'll be there in a sec.” Stiles answered. Washing his hair and body in record time he opens the shower door to see 2 black towels laying on the commode under the sink. He thinks he saw them out of the corner of his eyes before he sprinted into the shower, so fixated on avoiding the mirror that he almost oversaw them. Glad that Derek thought for him, he takes one to dry his body, wraps it around his waist and dry's his hair with the other one while walking into his room in search for clothes. He opens the first drawer to find a collection of shirts, mostly black and white, some blue and dark green. He picks a black one and opens the second drawer, taking black sweatpants and black boxer briefs out of it. They really are too big for him, but he doesn't dwell on the thought for too long.

 

Stiles leaves his room barefoot and walks through the carpeted corridor into the kitchen slash living room. The smell of food hits him like a train and he gets hungry for all about 2 seconds before his stomach rebels and he thinks he's about to throw up. He feels all of his blood leaving his face and Derek, holding two plates he was about to put on the table, sees it. He puts them down quickly and regards a swaying Stiles.

 

“Just – gimme a minute.” He struggles to say, trying to hold his bile in, because he knows there's nothing he could throw up if he had to. Derek nods and goes to the sink, he pulls out a glass and fills it with water from the tab. Stiles takes the glass and gulps it down, grateful that Derek decided ice cold water would be the best. When Stiles opens his eyes, Derek is nowhere to be seen. He calls out “Derek?” just as the older man rounds the corner of the hallway in which their rooms are, a wet washcloth in his hand. He gives it to Stiles and says “You're not eating the pasta casserole. But I'll make you ginger tea. It'll soothe your stomach. After that, maybe some Joghurt.” while he opens 2 of the big windows in the living room, to air out the apartment and to cool Stiles down, who's noticing that he's feeling a bit feverish now that the cool night air hits his hot skin. _Great_ Stiles thinks. _Just great_.

 

Pressing the washcloth to his forehead, his neck and his cheeks he tries to get as far away as possible from the two steaming plates on the table. He walks up to Derek and says softly “Thank you.” then sits down at the kitchen counter. Derek turns on the water boiler and turns around, folding his arms on his chest and looking critically at Stiles head laying on the marble top. “You're welcome. But you know you have to change things.” Stiles looks up at Derek with big eyes. “We don't have to talk about it now, but I, just like many other people, **you** included, even if you don't realize or acknowledge it right now, want to see you do better. I will help you however you need and however good I can but you have to make the serious decision to want it, and you have to keep making this decision every day. It will be exhausting and tiring and you'll want to give up before you even start, but you have to, Stiles. Not today, not even tomorrow or next week, but someday you won't want the life you're living anymore. And you'll have to decide. I'm here, ok? In whatever way you'll need me. You won't walk this road alone.” The boiler is done, and Derek turns around to fill the hot water into a mug, the little pieces of ginger floating on the top. Stiles stares at Derek's back, clad in the same shirt he's wearing, and turns the words over in his head.

 

Sometimes, Stiles thinks that no matter how many times the same sentence has been said to him, it doesn't have any effect until it is said in the right moment. Some things just need to have the perfect timing to be fully understood and internalized.

 

This was one of those moments were everything seemed to be perfect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are love <3 xo


	13. Would you let me do it first?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like I have writers block every day but the only cure to it is writing so I glued myself to my chair and got it done. I'm proud of myself. And I hope you enjoy this week's chapter! I know it's short but I've had such a busy week, I'm dead on my feet. Leave me a comment if you feel like it! As always unbeta'd so if you see any mistakes, please, please, please point them out to me so I can fix them! Thank you for reading xo

Derek's 'how-to-be-normal' training begun with sleep. A lot of it.

 

Which, to no one's surprise, proofed itself to be a problem.

 

After drinking the tea Derek gave him, Stiles ate a small bowl of yoghurt with a few pieces of banana Derek chopped for him. It hadn't been thrown up yet so Stiles counts it as a win.

“You can't expect your body to accept something as 'heavy' as pasta casserole after you've practically starved it. You need a light start and eat regularly. If you can't do it alone and need someone to remind you to eat.. Well, that's what I'm here for. And you need a lot of sleep, also regularly.” Derek had said after he cleared the counter of the empty bowl and teacup. He turned to face Stiles after he rinsed them out, took one look at Stiles mortified face and explained “Deep down you _know_ I'm not judging you or think you are a burden or anything like that. It's just this.. twisted version of what's real that your mind has made up out of all the hate you have. Trust me.” Derek's eyes go distant at his last words and he looks at something only he can see.

 

A dark memory. Moments of despair and uncontrollable rage. A hole in the wall, along the many others. A hole in the ground, along the many others. Heavy breathing. His clenching heart, too tight in his chest. Overwhelming loneliness. A gun-

 

“Derek!” He hears his name. Who is talking to him? They sound so far away, almost as if underwater, muffled. He feels a sharp pain blooming on his cheek and tries to grab at it but he can't feel his hands. Actually, he can't feel anything besides the pain in his cheek and his chest. He can't breathe properly. Something's crushing his chest, he knows it, he's just waiting for the sickening crunch of his ribs but it never comes, but the pain seems to be going on and on and on. He hears the voice again, this time even further away.

 

“Deaton? Yeah, I know. I _know_. Listen, we can chit-chat later but right now I need you to tell me how to calm an alpha werewolf with an anxiety attack. Or panic attack. I can't really tell.” Pause. “K, thanks.” The voice is nearer, a little louder. “Please don't kill me for this.” Stiles punches Derek straight in the face, knuckles colliding with Derek's nose, breaking it. The Alpha is so out of it he actually falls to the ground with the force of the hit and hits his head on the kitchen floor with a cracking sound. Stiles winces and sits next to Derek's head, on his hunches, ready to bolt if Derek won't get his wolf under control. He trusts him, he really does, but there are just some things you can't control, like the beta shift Derek had going on just before Stiles punched him. But that doesn't seem to be a problem anymore, seeing as Derek is groaning and clutching his bleeding nose with one hand and his head with the other. He was blinking furiously, also, like he's trying to see after he'd gotten water into his eyes. Eyes focusing on Stiles he looks around the kitchen, panicked, and Stiles thinks it's because he's still dizzy, but then he remembers – remembers how many times Derek had been captured, waking up in a completely unknown place, a dark back room, an underground chamber, tied to fences and tortured. He knows this look. Derek is looking for the nearest threat and for an escape route, calculating how he can get out. He's been conditioned to think that, even in the safety of his own home, he could get abducted every second. He just got better at hiding his fear.

 

Stiles wants to cry. A lot. But this is not about him. So he takes a deep breath, clears his head and say's, as silently as possible “Hey. I'm-” Derek's wild eyes snap to him and quickly swipe over his face, trying to figure out who he is, if he's the source of the pain he's in. “Hey, no, you're ok. It's me. Stiles? You know me.” Stiles says, desperate, kneading his thighs with sweaty hands. Then an idea comes to his mind.

 

It's fucking dangerous and probably his death but it's best way to remind the primal side of Derek, the side that's in control right now, who he is. He says a prayer in his head, lowers his head and bares his neck so Derek can sniff on it. It's a sign of submission and trust and Derek's wolf seems to realize it too, making a curious noise, raising his head smell the place where his scent is most concentrated. The younger men smells of an awful lot of anxiety, which makes Derek unhappy and he whines, searching deeper and finding hints of cinnamon, freshly cut grass and lighting underneath. He sniffs a little more and huffs into the skin of his neck, the gust of air making Stiles shiver. Derek lowers his head at last, closes his eyes and takes deep breaths. Stiles begins to breathe again too, falls on his butt and says “Sourwolf?” hoping Derek is back with him. Derek opens his eyes and rolls his head towards Stiles. “Don't call me that.” His voice is scratchy and deep and he looks like he'd run a marathon. His nose is still bleeding due to Derek not fixing it yet, red little lines running down his cheek now.

 

Stiles doesn't like the sight of blood. Not before, and even less now.

 

“Are you ok?” Stiles asks and internally winces. What kind of question is that? Derek knows what Stiles means, though, so he just answers “Yeah.” grabs at his crocked nose and cracks it back in place. A little more blood flows out, but he wipes it away and that's it. The pain from bumping his head on the floor is almost gone,too, so he tries to sit up. His ribs still ache and he grabs his chest and hunches over, groaning. Stiles is by his side in a second, roaming his hands over Derek's shoulders, reassuring him that he's there. He still knows how the wolves work. Physical reassurance always worked the best. “You gotta straighten up or it'll only get worse. I know the throbbing is bad, but trust me. You can lay down again if you want to.” he quietly says. Derek shakes his head, says “The kitchen floor is pretty cold.” and Stiles barks out a short laugh at the absurdity of his statement in this situation. “Well, then let's get you into bed.” Stiles blushes and sputters, noticing the suggestiveness of his sentence. “I mean, like, your bed. Where you sleep. _Alone_. Not me taking you to your bed. Or mine. Like romantically. Technically, I _am_ taking you to bed. But not like that.” Derek watches him, amused by his little crisis. He takes him out of it and begins his walk to his room as soon as he's steady on his feet. Stiles takes a moment to stop talking once Derek is gone, to even _notice_ he is gone, and follows him.

 

Outside his room he stops and watches as Derek gets into bed, the only light the little lamp on the nightstand. He looks over to Stiles and asks, so quietly he almost doesn't catch it “Were you scared?” He thinks about it. “Yeah, I was scared for you. It looked pretty awful.” Derek makes a frustrated noise and plucks at the covers, avoiding Stiles' eyes. “No,I mean were you scared _of_ me. Did I scare you?” Stiles doesn't think about it and doesn't need to. “No.” The silence stretches on and just as it starts to get uncomfortable, Derek tells Stiles “You can go to bed, Stiles. Unless you want to stand there the whole night, that is.” At the little smirk that plays at his lips Stiles gives him his 'oh you think you're funny?' face, lifting one eyebrow and smirking right back. “Ahhh, Sourwolf got jokes. You better sleep with one open eye, big guy. I still remember how to make someone pee themselves while sleeping. Watch it.” He points his index and middle finger at his own eyes and then at Derek before walking to his own room where he plops onto his bed and just lays there,over the covers, for several minutes, trying to calm down.

 

And he still lays there several hours later. He's just contemplating going to the living room and doing something that doesn't involve staring at the wall when there's a soft knock on the door.


	14. Do it all in the Name of Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know. It's sunday. I'm very sorry for everyone that enjoys this Story (though I doubt there is anyone like that haha) but I'm in a bad place right now so maybe I'll drop this story.I don't even like it anymore. Idk yet. Happy Easter xo

“Come in.” Stiles mumbles. He doesn't even try to act as if he was asleep, Derek could tell anyway.

 

Derek pops his head through the door but Stiles can't see the look in his face, the light in the corridor illuminating his silhouette when Derek opens the door completely and leans against the frame. Stiles sits up a little more and leans on his hands. He waits patiently for Derek to say or do something that could explain what he's doing up and in Stiles room at – he glances at the clock on his bedside drawer – 1:34 in the morning.

Finally, Derek asks “Can we talk?” and Stiles is, once again, hit with the baffling change in Derek's behavior. A few years back you practically had to drag him by his hair if you wanted him anywhere near a conversation. Now he is the one who initiates it. Curious as to what it is he would want to talk about (There's a lot) Stiles shrugs and says “Sure.” He pats the space beside him on the bed but Derek shakes his head. “Living room.” Well, there's the monosyllabic Derek again. It gives Stiles a sense of nostalgia, but like every other memory, it is tainted with blood and pain so he doesn't dwell on it but shakes it off with a physical full body shudder that he disguises as a stretch and gets to his feet. “Go ahead, I'll be right there.” Derek stands there for another 2 seconds, stares at him ( at least Stiles thinks he stares, still can't really see his face) and vanishes down the corridor. The younger man pads to the wardrobe in search for a hoodie or something similar. He hadn't even noticed that he was cold until he moved and his blood cycle started to work again. He finds a blue cardigan that feels very fluffy and puts it on, wraps it around his torso and follows Derek to the living room.

The alpha sits on the couch, legs spread before him and his hands lay loosely in his lap. He looks calm but when his eyes meet Stiles on his way to the armchair that's parallel to the couch Stiles knows that the wheels in his head are turning, thinking about what to say and how to say it. He looks kind of trapped, even though he himself wanted this conversation. Stiles would've been fine with just going on with whatever they were doing, he was always a fan of ignoring a problem until it eventually goes away. But apparently, that's not what they're doing anymore. He audibly swallows and sits down at the edge of the chair, ready to bolt if he didn't want to have this talk. He waits.

 

The minutes go by in which Derek opens his mouth several times to say something but closing it again, thinking. The streetlights coming through the giant windows only intensify the prominent lines of Derek's face, the worry lines on his forehead, the little creases between his drawn eyebrows.

 

“Sometimes I just want to lash out, you know.” Is what comes out of Derek's mouth in the end. “Just take something and smash it against the wall or just trash the whole apartment. It's when I feel trapped in my own skin. You probably know what I mean.” And Stiles does. He knows exactly what Derek means. He doesn't want to say anything, he hates sharing what he feels. But he thinks it's only fair. “I feel it almost every day, scratching at the walls of my body. Everything feels wrong and out of place so I want everything else to be out of place, too, so I don't feel like I'm going insane.” He looks down at his hands and counts in his head.

 

“This is real.” It takes him by surprise, that Derek still knows Stiles so good, even when they barely had anything to do with each other over the past years.

 

“I know, it's just... A habit, I guess.” Counting fingers to make sure this isn't a dream. He pulls the sleeves of the cardigan over his hands and crosses his arms over his chest, leaning back into the chair.

 

“Do you ever feel like you survived for nothing? Like you told yourself 'Just one more day. Maybe tomorrow will be better, or different. One more day'. I tell myself every morning 'Just one more day.' but nothing ever changes. What if .. What if that's my life? Like what if I have to tell myself 'Just one more day' until the day I die? I don't want to live like that. That can't even be considered a life. Not one worth living, anyway.” Stiles feels kind of bad whining about his problems to a guy who's family got murdered. But then again,Derek is one of those people that understand just because someone else tells him about their problems doesn't mean they try to belittle his. He probably understands Stiles better than anyone else. “I know what you mean. There's not really anything you can do about it, though. You'll have to decide what's more important to you. When you're... Well, when you're depressed, the only thing you really live, or survive, on is hope. And this hope depends mostly on yourself. There's this stereotype that 'love' can save a person, as if it could cure a disease that has nothing to do with other people. There are plenty people with depression who have a large support system or an, objectively, good life, who are depressed. That's because depression is in your head, it's literally a disease that has infiltrated your brain. It has to do with chemicals, biological reactions and you can support someone as much as you want, don't get me wrong, support is also a big factor, but in the end, it's the person with the disease that has to fight it, all on his own.” Derek takes a deep breath and looks Stiles in the eyes. “Listen, I don't want you to think that I'm acting as if I know exactly what you feel. Nobody can understand someone else perfectly. I'm just talking about my own experience. Even now I'm still often sad and sometimes even the pack can't help with that. It would be amazing if it would be that easy, just a few cuddles and that's it. But it's not. And we all deal with it differently.” He trails off quietly.


	15. Would you let me lead you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All of you are lovely! Seriously, I swore to myself to leave this story unfinished but then I read the comments again and I just couldn't do it. I'm going to re-write it eventually, just to be 100% happy with it, but right now, I'm sticking to this shitty story, because it's MY shitty story and some of you really seemed to like it. I'm still learning and writing is the only way to learn how to write. I hope you enjoy this chapter and feel free to leave a comment (it means a lot to me, all joking aside! And I could really use some cheering up right now, my wisdoom teeth removal was 3 weeks ago and I'm still in pain- Feedback is, as always, very much appreciated) xo

Stiles feels a tugging sensation in his chest looking at Derek and remembering the way he used to be. How  _he_ dealt with his problems by lashing out and biting wayward teenagers, basically wreaking havoc wherever he went. How he snarled at everyone trying to get close to him in any way. Derek ran away from his problems, just like Stiles. It didn't really matter in which way, in the end they're both in the same boat. But Derek is slowly going ashore and Stiles is still stuck in the storm. There's nothing poetic about it,really. It's just fucking devastating trying to live like that and seeing other people getting their lives together while you're just sitting there, waiting for something. For what? Stiles doesn't know. He gave up trying to figure it out, to be honest. But he keeps waiting anyway, praying for a miracle to happen. Just-  _something. Anything_ to show him he didn't wait all of those years for nothing. 

 

Stiles looks up and casts a look at Derek, wondering if he's thinking about the same things. He's met with an intense stare, as if the Alpha has been waiting for Stiles to lift his head. The brief flicker of crimson in his eyes still makes Stiles shiver everytime. It's like Derek is just  _radiating_ power and safety at the same time. He looks tense, but at ease at the same time. His shoulders are relaxed but his hands keep flexing, like he's trying to work nervous energy out of his body and Stiles can relate to that. He gives the older man a weak excuse of a smile. Derek seems to appreciate the sentiment ,however, and huffs but the corners of his lips lift, just a little bit. It's barely anything, really. But sometimes 'barely' is enough. 

 

Stiles is grateful for the lack of sensory input, there are a lot of things to process, for himself and for Derek, if the nervous looks he keeps giving the young man are anything to go by. Most of them unspoken but heavier than anything else. Stiles stands up and Derek looks startled for a second before he's schooling his expression to politely interested. 

 

"Thank you, Derek." he says, hoping the sincerity in his voice and eyes as he keeps eye contact isn't lost on Derek. This time, Derek gives him a full, real, 1000 Watt smile that takes Stiles' breath away everytime, and this time is no different.

 

"You're welcome." It's more of a deep rumble coming from within Derek's chest and he basically puffs his chest out, all proud and show off-ish because he did his job as Alpha and helped comfort one of his hurt pack members. It's kind of adorable, Stiles thinks. Ok, no, it is  _definitly_ adorable. Stiles may get caries if he has to look at the picture Derek makes any longer, so he throws him an awkward wave and quickly makes his retreat back to the room. He slides down the door to the ground after he closed it, trying to control his wildly beating heart and making sense of this whole day. He's raiding his brain for answers to questions he can't even form when he suddenly wakes up because something nudges his back. For a second after he opens his eyes a fraction Stiles gets horrible flashbacks of cold concrete and a bear-trap because he doesn't know where he is but then he remembers. Derek's apartment. Right. He digs his hands into the soft carpet to ground him and opens his eyes all the way. The last 24 hours come back all at once and a really bad headache is about to form when he feels something wet and coarse touch his forehead. 

The carpet may be fluffy but it sure as hell isn't comfortable to sleep on, Stiles thinks as he slowly unfolds from the fetus position he had rolled himself in when he fell asleep in front of the door. His head knocks against something small that made a distressed sound and Stiles looked up to see Derek's little kitten laying directly in front of his face. "Oh no! Did I knock you over?" Stiles cooed at it and sat up to pick it up and put it into his lap. The cotton ball proceeded to meow the whole time and Stiles thought it was probably scolding him for being such a clumsy idiot. He smiled fondly and cooed a bit more before he noticed the nudging against his back again. He slowly turned around, not sure what it could be, and looked at the door. It was open. He lifted his gaze and saw Derek. Well, Derek's head, to be precise, peeking around the corner of the door. His hair was mussy and he looked sleep rumpled and content.The soft look in his eyes didn't get exchanged for a scowl,like it would've been a few years back, as he met Stiles stare and Stiles didn't know if he should be grateful or curse his whole life. Derek was so- so  _nice._ Not just nice like in polite,but he,himself, was something nice. Stiles didn't really know how to handle it. He has never been good with feelings and Derek wasn't either. At least he used to be but with the way he acted lately Stiles wasn't so sure of that anymore. 

"You hungry?" Derek asked with a hoarse voice,and smiled. He nudged Stiles with the door one more time and he scrambled to get to the bedpost nearest to him using only one hand, the other holding the kitten, and when he turned around and leaned against the end of the bed, the door was open all the way, revealing Derek. Who's only wearing sweatpants. Really low hanging sweatpants. 

 

Stiles decided to curse his life. 

 


	16. Even when you're blind?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gosh it's been a long time guys!! I am so so so sorry for my irregularity , there's really no excuse. This is a more hopeful chapter and I hope you all enjoy it!! I certainly enjoyed writing it and I hope ya'll have an amazing day! I will try to post more often and also to bring this story to a hopeful end. If you see any mistakes, please do point them out! xoxo

Stiles nods dumbly but doesn't make any move to get up, he just keeps staring at Dereks... face. Ok he's really trying to just look at Dereks face. But he's only human so he risks glancing a little more south from his face and holy –

 

“I uhm- I'm gonna be -” he points to the little bathroom attached to his room and scrambles up, keeps his eyes down and doesn't run to the bathroom. He's about to lock the door when he notices he forgot something, so he walks back out with his eyes still firmly on the ground, hands Derek the kitten he had craddled against his chest and stalks back into the bathroom, face burning and internally cursing. All but slamming the door shut he leans against it, breathing harshly and tries to calm his heart that's threatening to beat right out of his chest. Just as his thoughts are about to drift to a fantasy involving something more physically he shakes it off and scolds himself for being stupid. This is not what he's doing anymore. Not with Derek. _Especially_ not with Derek, good God. Stiles remembers the countless boys and girls he was with in an attempt to fill the void in his chest and he feels sick. Disgusted. Lost. Gross. It's a chapter in his life that Stiles would give everything to forget, when he got drunk in a different club every weekend and slept with the first person who showed even the slightest bit of interest.

 

He doesn't want to do that any longer, though. He doesn't even drink anymore, for fucks sake. Much less have sex with strangers, or sex in generell. Stiles is a (relatively) healthy young man, don't get him wrong, but his need for sex was, up until now, only rooted in his selfhatred and did more damage than it should. He's heard a lot of stories about how fun sex was supposed to be but somehow he always felt .. empty afterwards. It was more about the momentary distraction anyway, to not feel anything other than his skin against the skin of whoever he decided to sleep with so he didn't have to think, even if it was just for a little while.

 

 _Fuck it up and destroy any sort of potential_ is Stiles kneejerk reaction to anything possibly serious involving actual emotions and vulnerability. But Dereks words are starting to float through his head again, about how someday he won't want this life anymore. Chest hurting Stiles realizes that Derek was probably right. No, he does not want to live like this anymore, but even if he could miraculously turn his life around he would still have to live with everything he had done. Every scar will forever remind him of what he did, to himself and to protect the ones he loved. Gripping his shirt right over his heart Stiles takes a deep breath and opens his eyes, steels himself for what's about to happen. Slowly, drawing in shaky breaths, he makes his way towards the mirror over the sink across from the shower, barely noticing the cold breeze from the window he left open after his shower yesterday. His grip on the ceramic turns white knuckled as he struggles to actually look up and face reality. Literally. But running is not an option anymore.

 

The second Stiles meets his own eyes in the mirror it feels like he's been winded. He looks even worse than when he was possessed, and he looked like a Zombie back then. The young man lifts his bony hand to his hollow cheek to see his reflection doing the same, unconsciously counting his fingers while he's at it to make sure this is real. One, two, three, four... five. Fuck. Distantly aware of the soft knock on the door Stiles eyes roam over his face, with the hollow eye sockets that used to hold two glistening ambers, now replaced with dull, dark brown eyes, and his cracked, dry lips, down to his shoulders which used to be a lot broader and fill his now too big shirt out, over his torso. Pulling his shirt off in a trance like state to examine his chest he knocks his elbow against the sink and curses, which causes Derek to knock once more with an insistent ''Stiles!'' '' I'm fine!'' he says ''I'm fine, just- gimme a sec alright?'' Without taking his eyes from the mirror. Cold,clammy fingers wander over his chest,bump against the prominent bones of his ribs. It looks like if he'd tried, Stiles could grab under his ribcage. Ghost is the first word that comes to the young mans mind and it scares him, not just his obviously unhealthy exterior, what scares him the most is the absolute nothingness inside. No hope, no dreams, no real feelings except for terror and anxiety and panic. And even those sometimes leave.

 

Focusing on his scars is something he's usually avoiding, mainly because he's gotten so used to them that sometimes he forgets they're there. Looking at them now, really seeing them is frightening to say at least. There's the deep, long scar right under his left collarbone from when Stiles pushed Erica out of the way of a wolfsbane soaked knife that was about to stab her right in the heart. It scarred rather ugly and is still a little red even though it's been more than two years. Three claw marks stretch over his side, from directly under his pec to his shoulder blade, thanks to a not so nice Omega that passed through their territory, scent drunk after the alpha pack was gone. Completely disoriented he was following the trail that smelled of power and pack in hopes of finding a safe haven somewhere and ran into the pack taking a full moon stroll through the woods, who then proceeded to try to calm the lone wolf down. To say it didn't work well was an understatement. They ended up having to kill the Omega due to it's unwillingness to cooperate. And because it was either him or Stiles dying.

 

Physically shaking his head in an attempt to brush the memories off Stiles takes a deep breathe and looks down into the sink. He feels overwhelmed. He doesn't know what's right and what's wrong. The decision seems easy, in theory, but it's far more complicated than one who is merely looking at it from an outsiders point of view would think. Emotions .. sure, they can change. But you can't make them change, it does not work like that. Stiles ponders over it for a few more minutes until he comes to a conclusion: Humans are creatures of habits. He has to stick to making good decisions, and if he himself can not determine what's a good one and what's a bad one, well, he has a whole pack of people to help him with that, right? He _has_ to try. If not for him, then for the people who care enough about him to not give him up, even after all he's done. Memories begin to surface, happy ones. Stiles and Jackson bickering over who gets the last slice of pizza, Erica beating them both to it by snatching it while the two are not looking, too busy arguing. Boyds rare, throaty laugh and Dereks fond smile. Isaac chuckling behind his hand when Stiles turns,gaping when he sees Erica stuffing the last bit into her mouth with a raised eyebrow. Lydia trying to trip Jackson from where she's sat at the kitchen counter doing her nails as he walks towards a cackling Erica and almost going down with him. Scott and Liam  sitting on the couch, trying not to laugh too.

As a smile slowly creeps onto his face Stiles thinks: _Maybe. Maybe there really is some more left._

 

He picks up the shirt from the floor and pulls it back on, walking to the door and opens it only to have a werewolf who recently had his ear pressed to the door almost fall on him as it opens. Derek gives Stiles a sheepish smile but he can see the slight crease between his eyebrows.

 

“What were you thinking about?” he asks the younger man, who grins in return.

 

“Hope.”


End file.
